


Tire

by ImmoralHD



Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Come Eating, Cum Eating, Desperation, Dry Humping, F/M, Fantasizing, Grinding, Her boi has no clue, Masturbation, Pailing, Purpleblooded girl is filthy, Sleep Play, Somnophilia, Tentabulges (Homestuck), Trolls, Well - Freeform, Yandere, filthy language, maybe not so dry.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 00:17:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21437059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImmoralHD/pseuds/ImmoralHD
Summary: Filthy, filthy thoughts crawl into her head every time they're alone together. When a cuddle session turns into a harmless nap for him, the first thing she thinks of is how to get herself off like she's been so desperate to do.What if he wakes up?Well, she's never really cared. He's the only thing she's ever craved.
Relationships: OMC/OFC, Original Male Character/Original Female Character
Kudos: 18





	Tire

**Author's Note:**

> Both trolls are purple blooded OC's! The girl is a yandere koreaboo who's desperately in love with a K-Pop themed troll who doesn't know about the depth of her desire for him.
> 
> Any other questions, I'd love to answer! Hopefully you enjoy <3

He’s asleep beside her-- eyes peacefully closed. Flushed just slightly with the purple of his blood. It’s how she can tell he’s still alive. He’s not paled out by makeup, nor by death. She wants to consume him whole. She wants to trap him here. She can feel the way he shifts in the cushions as he gets comfortable. The way his breathing deepens before he drifts off. She pays very good attention. She wants him here forever.

The breathing behind her face mask gets heavier when he makes this groaning sound like he’s stretching. The couch is small, they had passed out together. The sound is right into her ear and she has to wrestle her vocal cords so she doesn’t spill his name. She’s lying almost entirely on top of him. He’d feel it if she moved her hand from where it’s tucked under his side to press between her legs. But he’s already got his legs tangled up with hers, so she just stares up at his long eyelashes and the straightness of his bleached hair. He’s perfect. She starts to rock her hips against his leg. He’s asleep. She can brush it off like she was just shifting to get comfortable. She wasn’t dreaming of locking him in her basement. She wasn’t thinking about killing every fan he laid eyes on to keep him hers.

He grumbles again, a sound deep in his chest, and the insistence of the chilliness of her nook becomes more severe. 

Take. Steal. Desire. She squeezes the thick plushness of her thighs around his leg a little tighter. Even through her jeans, she can feel the leaking of her purple prematerial. The texture of her panties and the jeans make the pleasure that much sweeter as she ruts herself on his sleeping body like she’s some sort of animal. Panting and whimpering erratically and hopefully not loud enough to rouse him from sleep. She thinks she feels his bulge twitch in his pants but she’s mostly sure it’s just projection. 

It is, however, an incredibly powerful little fantasy of hers. Him being turned on that she’s just clamoring to do anything and everything with him all the time. Maybe she could convince him to take her like this in return someday. Until then, she’ll just pretend she felt his bulge writhe and shift under his pants, just out of reach. She wants to grope herself but it’d be too much movement, and with a moaned little chuff, she gives up on the idea. She has such a hard time getting off without something inside her needy nook, but she’ll struggle through that. It’s worth it to spill on him. Maybe she could convince him it was an embarrassing dream. She is going to stain the couch and soak him and quite possibly ruin her chances with her idol, her bias.

He moves again, slow with sleep, though it’s in her favor. The way he’s got his leg closer towards her makes her grind against him with such desperation it’s a wonder he hasn’t opened his eyes. She’s certain his dreamself wanted this, that’s why he moved his leg closer. That’s why he’s letting her use his thigh as something made to stimulate her pulsing little pleasure nub. She can hear the beat of her bloodpusher in her ears as she fucks herself against the side of his leg. 

_ Barkbeast. Barkbeast in heat. _ It flashes through her head in aggressive, bold, purple font. It makes her drool, eyes fluttering up behind her fogging glasses. Well, they would be fogging if she wasn’t nearly made of ice. 

The lack of blur to her glasses just means it’d be that much easier for him to see how painfully awake and aware she is as she daydreams and fantasizes of fucking him while she uses his sleeping body to masturbate. 

_One day,_ she thinks. _One day, it will be him on top of me._ One day, he’ll get so frustrated or in love that he’ll pin her down and take her. Pail with her and let her cum a second time at the way their purple fills up a bucket on its own. Their genetic material, mixed up. She wants to drink it, wants to crawl to the bucket on her hands and knees. Remove the cloth of her mask, push it down just so she can lick the slurry from its container. Taste him, taste them, act like a pathetic plebeian in comparison to her partner, even if they share a shade. She wants to drink him down, feel more purple coat her insides.

The thought of this is what makes her climax, squirming and smacking her head against the pillow. She wants to scream and bites her lip instead-- she prays she can at least pretend to be asleep when he inevitably wakes up to the mess she’s made. She gushes another bout of genetic material when she thinks of him scooping her mess onto his fingers and forcing her to clean it off. She makes this awful, thick, throaty moan and just can’t help it anymore. Her jeans are soaked and seeping purple, he’ll wake up any moment now. 

She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to act dumb, like she didn’t do anything. But she keeps thinking of him finally snapping on her and it’s so painfully hard to slow her hips. She just needs more-- with nothing inside her, the orgasm almost seems like it doesn’t count. She’s not satisfied. She won’t be satisfied until she’s used as a receptacle for genetic slurry and frustrations. 

He wakes up immediately, and she prays he’s not good at hearing the way her voice pitches when she lies and plays innocent.


End file.
